Parenthood, Part 2

I love my teenagers, don’t get me wrong. I am fiercely proud of them, of their burgeoning independence, of the strides they are making toward adulthood. But there is that twinge of sadness these days. Okay, it’s more like  a big gaping wound of rejection and disappointment than a twinge.  These kids, (who just yesterday were my babies) don’t need me anymore. I don’t know exactly when I stopped being the center of their small worlds, but now I find I cannot remember the last time one of their faces lit up when I walked into a room.  The last time they laughed whole-heartedly at anything I said or did. The last time they let me read to them, or asked for a good night kiss or hug. Empty arms=empty heart.  But life is full of surprises, and I got the best one yet.  I get to do the mommy thing all over again!  My baby girl, the beautiful Princess JuJu (her nickname from practically day one) is four months old now. She is the happiest, sweetest little bundle of pinkness to steal my heart in a long, long time.  Parenthood is so much sweeter this time around, because this time, I am well aware how quickly the years are going to go by.  As a young mother, I spent many happy stay-at-home days pushing swings at the park, playing boats in the bathtub, baking bread that looked like teddy bears with raisins for eyes. But there was an undercurrent of stress and exhaustion: I had three babies in four years, and I always felt rushed for time. I stuck so closely to a routine, and found myself looking forward to tucking them in at night so I could get some rest. I had less patience than I would have liked, and I didn’t always take time to stop and smell the roses. But one day I turned around, and the three little ducklings who used to follow me everywhere I went were scattered in different directions, finding their own way.  So when Princess JuJu wakes up and summons the royal feeder (me) at 4:45 am, I crawl out of bed mumbling “Mommy’s coming, darlin’”. I get to the crib (a mere ten or so steps that feel like a mile) and she shrieks with delight when she sees me   I pick her up and take her back to my bed and feed her, before I leave for work. She holds onto my finger and nurses happily while I admire every downy hair on her tiny little head, every vein visible through her porcelain skin.  I spend hours playing on the floor, on the bed. I read her books every night, all of my favorites, Dr. Suess, Maurice Sendak, Mother Goose…In the distance I hear the locomotive sound of time passing. I try to take some comfort that she is so very far away from Don’t Need Mommy Anymore-ville. I stop and smell the roses, or rather the lavender scent of her plump baby skin. I admire her blue eyes, her pink cheeks, her filling-out form every chance I get, trying to record just how she looks this very minute in my mind forever.  Because the chubby cheeks will one day give way to chiseled cheekbones. The downy head will boast thick, long, hi-lighted hair. The big blue eyes will be rimmed with eyeliner, the pudgy legs will be long and lean in a pair of blue jeans, and when people turn to look at her, it won’t be to say how adorable she is. Someday she will be Julia, an adult woman navigating her way through our messed up world. But today? She is Princess JuJu, twirling in her mother’s arms and cooing along to Michael Buble. Resting her chubby cheek against the curve of my neck, smiling with glee when she sees me. And I am going to be grateful and mentally present for every moment of her childhood. Because childhood is only 6,570 days long, and they go by faster than we can ever imagine.